


Orc-estral Conversations

by loyalnerdwp



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Orcalock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 17:32:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1573919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyalnerdwp/pseuds/loyalnerdwp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Hey, I met a bloke, actually kind of a whale, sort of like a merman, actually. The bottom half is an orca whale, yeah. Am I running a slew of thorough and painful scientific and diagnostic tests on him? Nah, I’m teaching him English.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orc-estral Conversations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wendlaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendlaa/gifts).



> This is a writing commission for Belly (tumblr user [orcabelly](http://orcabelly.tumblr.com/)), who asked for Sally teaching Orcalock English (as well as a specific scene I did my best to get in there!). I tried to get Shally in there, but I'm afraid I didn't manage as well. Still, I hope you like it - and happy moving day!
> 
> Title credit to [minici](http://minici.tumblr.com/), thanks to [skylinegiraffe](http://skylinegiraffe.tumblr.com/) and [hmsjohnlocked](http://hmsjohnlocked.tumblr.com/) for editing/beta/britpicking work.
> 
> Disclaimer: all of what I know about orcas and pods and interaction with humans is solely from the little research I did, which included, mainly, skimming articles that looked credible and watching YouTube videos. So, nah, this isn’t scientifically accurate probably at all, but it's also an AU about a half-man half-orca, so?
> 
>  
> 
> [Commission details here.](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/82641812115/sherlock-fanfic-commissions)

“What’s this one?”

“Adult.”

“Good, and the little one?”

“Child.”

A smirk twitches at the corner of Sally’s lips. “And this one?”

The line of Sherlock’s mouth wiggles to match Sally’s. “Idiot,” he says, his wet finger leaving droplets of water on the laminated page where he touches, next to Sally’s. The picture of the smiling tourist with the camera around his neck remains unoffended, his hand up in greeting, ballcap too tight on his head, sunglasses obscuring his eyes.

Sally nudges his hand off the page so she can turn it. He answers before she can ask, “Family,” and puts the whole of his large hand over the picture of the orca whale on the page.

 

\--

 

They first met when Sally was transferred to a programme in southern Alaska which was, for a marine biologist with an interest bordering on obsession with orca whales, a dream. The university secured her a position and even paid for her travel, which left her in tears of grateful joy as she hugged everyone goodbye on her last day and thanked them for all they’d done for her. It was a good place, a good job, but this was so much better, and she wouldn’t consider turning it down in a million years.

Her new home was beautiful and she was working her dream job. With all her friends back in England it was a bit lonely, but it was all still good. She was bound to meet someone she clicked with soon enough.

 

\--

 

With resources from her colleagues, she quickly becomes acquainted with the resident pods in the area. When she starts getting to know them, and when they get comfortable with her, she considers them her family, too. She knows them and their names, and she knows that of the eighteen whales in one pod, she’s only ever seen seventeen of their faces.

 

\--

 

She honestly doesn’t understand she missed it for so long, or how he managed to hide it so well, but it’s a miracle she didn’t see him sooner.

It’s when the weather is finally warming up and she fancies getting closer, being mutually curious, that she meets him. The whales are swimming past her kayak and the thrill she always gets when they’re so close together rises up in her chest like her own happiness might choke her. Briny mist puffs up in clouds around her, cooling her skin.

Her grin is about to split her face in half when something gently shakes her paddle and she whips her head around to look. An innocent and slightly shocked face meets hers and her jaw just about comes off she drops it so quickly.

“Oh my god,” she says aloud, and the numbers are already running through her head. It’s the middle of May and the water can’t be more than 4C; this bloke ought to be shaking and blue, but he’s just looking up at her with wide, curious eyes the same colour as the waves lapping at her kayak. When she tries to pull the paddle away and reach out to touch him he shocks backward and ducks under the water, which is when Sally sees the tip of a black tail poking up behind him.

 

\--

 

She thinks, at first, that he simply isn’t capable of speaking. Not in the same way as her, anyway; she’s heard him communicating with the other whales, so she knows he can make sound, but she doesn’t think he’ll talk.

Still, she says hello to him every time the pod passes by (she’s started coming to the same spot every day, and it seems as though he is just as curious as she is, because the pod has started coming every day, too), and soon enough, when she says, “hello,” he surprises her by saying it right back.

 

\--

 

Teaching Sherlock to speak after that is easy. It starts with getting him to tell Sally his name; she points to herself and says, “Sally,” and like a scene out of _Tarzan_ , he points to himself and says “Sherlock.” When she grins at him, he mirrors her, and she has it figured out right away how to teach him English.

 

\--

 

The next day when she goes out she brings a bag full of extra things that she found around her little cottage: dishes, silverware, a book, her hairbrush, other little things she thought to grab last minute. It’s a bit pointless, she thinks as she’s headed out, because he’ll obviously never need to know about these things, but he seems just as eager to learn as she is to teach.

While she’s waiting for the pod to come by (at the same time they have for the past two weeks: just past nine) she takes down notes on things she can actually tell people about - travel patterns and linguistics and the sighting of a transient pod that hasn’t been in the area for over a year. Nothing about a half whale, half bloke she found swimming amongst a pod that seems to have accepted him wholly for who he is.

She considers what would happen to Sherlock if she did put her trust in someone and told them, _“Hey, I met a bloke, actually kind of a whale, sort of like a merman, actually. The bottom half is an orca whale, yeah. Am I running a slew of thorough and painful scientific and diagnostic tests on him? Nah, I’m teaching him English.”_

The idea of what would happen to him turns her stomach and she puts the idea out of her mind immediately.

When the pod arrives she teaches Sherlock why you can’t lean on a kayak, and resolves, while wringing out her hair, to come on an inflatable next time.

 

\--

 

For the next few weeks she goes out to the same spot every day at the same time with new things to teach Sherlock. Objects are the easiest, but things like who, what, when, where, why, and how are harder. He’s able to grasp them, it’s just that Sally has trouble communicating what they mean. She puts gestures to the words to help. When Sherlock wants to know what something is, he always points to it and then looks at Sally. Now, when he does this, she says, “what is it?” and he repeats, “what is it?”

In a month he knows every household item Sally can think of, but still can’t hardly speak to her. He tries, but he doesn’t know enough to articulate what he wants to say.

She spends every evening of the week looking up how to teach English, and finds that while there’s nothing specific about teaching a half-man, half-whale how to speak English for the first time, there’s plenty about teaching young children.

 

\--

 

“You are Sherlock.”

“You are Sherlock,” Sherlock repeats. Sally sighs.

“No,” she says patiently. She points to herself. “I am Sally.” She points to him. “You are Sherlock.”

“Sherlock.”

“You,” she says, pointing to him again, “Say,” she continues, touching her mouth, “‘I am Sherlock.’”

“ _I_ am Sherlock?” he ventures.

Sally grins widely, and he mirrors her.

 

\--

 

The pod is late to show up one day, and while Sally tries not to worry, she worries nevertheless. Not that something happened to them, or to Sherlock, because they can hold their own. She doesn’t actually know what she’s worrying for; it’s not the time for migration and they’re a resident pod, so they aren’t just going to up and leave. Still, she worries that maybe they are done showing up, and this arrangement won’t be anymore.

Of course, she’s proved wrong a few minutes later, when she sees the pod arriving, with an additional friend; a humpback whale, to which Sherlock is clinging as it crests out of the water. He has a ridiculous grin on his face, sopping wet curls plastered to his forehead and the back of his neck, and looking like he’s having the goddamn time of his life.

His smiling face follows the whale when it dives back down and when they crest again Sherlock comes out of the water sputtering, like he didn’t see it coming. He sees Sally’s boat and waves before they dip under the water again.

 

\--

 

“How do you keep your hair short?” Sally asks, reaching out to touch it. It’s been niggling at her for a while now. He lives with whales in the ocean, it’s not like he takes trips to a barber.

Sherlock purses his lips and stares at her in concentration. “I have a knife, I got when a… fisher?” He shakes his head, then corrects himself. “Fisherman. I got from him when he… Need a word,” he says - a phrase Sally taught him to help with his vocabulary. He grabs a red and white fishing bobber off the floor of the inflatable and holds it above his head, then lets it go so that it falls and splashes in the the water next to him.

“The fisherman dropped the knife,” Sally says.

“Yes.” Sherlock nods and looks pleased. He puts the bobber back on the floor of the boat. “He dropped and I got it. It cut my hand,” he says, holding out his palm to show her a scar that runs from the base of his thumb to the base of his pinky finger. “So I use it because it is… sharp.”

“Good job,” Sally praises softly. “You don’t like your hair long?” she asks, touching her hair and pulling her hand down past its length.

“No,” Sherlock replies. “It…” He waves in an abortive gesture and reaches up to tug his fringe down over his eyes. “Words, please.”

“It gets in your face,” Sally says. “Except you _know_ those words. You can’t ask me to say something just because you don’t want to think about it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m your teacher, not your interpreter.”

“I do not know _that_ word.”

Sally smiles. “I’ll teach you tomorrow.”

 

 


End file.
